


Our Little Family (New)

by CrashStack, rainb0we



Series: Our Little Family [1]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Family, Gen, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Religion, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29907198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrashStack/pseuds/CrashStack, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainb0we/pseuds/rainb0we
Summary: Sometimes, solace can be found in the past, but with that solace comes risks. In a desperate attempt to fully escape the fear of being found and to make rent, Mike returns to his old safe haven; Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. He thought he could find a shred of happiness in what was once a true home, but instead he found a cruel chill. Secrets are hidden in every corner of the pizzeria, in every last employee from the manager to the janitor. Something is wrong with this place, and Mike isn't sure if he'll get to the bottom of things alive.But maybe underneath the misery there's something else. Something warm. Something loving. Something to make things worth fighting for.
Series: Our Little Family [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2199144
Comments: 3
Kudos: 32





	Our Little Family (New)

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while with my AU, huh? 😅
> 
> For those who don't know or who didn't see the post, I'm rewriting OLF. My reasons why are in this post: https://crashstack.tumblr.com/post/645030120919302144. I realized that there were a lot of reasons why I was growing unhappy with the previous installments, I couldn't keep pushing on writing something I didn't want to. I've improved a lot on my writing and have realized just how much my various traumas took over what could've been a great story, I wanted a fresh start and my best friend helped me begin one.
> 
> And yes, the old installments are now deleted. I'm sorry about that, but they were just making me incredibly uncomfortable and I had been making myself keep them up for a while. Hopefully y'all will still enjoy the story going forward.
> 
> Bowe's been helping me revise and fix things, so his handiwork's going to be in here too! This isn't a complete restart, just a lot of updates and much cleaner writing with the help of an amazing storybuilder!
> 
> Thank y'all so much for the support and I hope y'all enjoy this new start!

“Hey there!”

Mike jolted from his daze with a soft sound. The world came back in front of him, reflecting in the tired blue eyes. Sunlight beamed through the large window showing the parking lot, shining against the polished black and white tiles on the floor. The smell of copper was replaced again by cake and pizza, the taste of frosting in his watering mouth disintegrating.

A man stood next to him. His blond hair was neatly combed, light brown sideburns framing his smiling face. His eyes were a warm chocolate and swirling with life. There was a fresh coffee stain on his work shirt, the bright orange tie having also caught the spatter, and his brown slacks were wrinkled and baggy. A small, crescent scar marked a flush cheek.

“Sorry to keep ya waiting! Paperwork can be a big pain in the butt.” The man held out his hand. “I’m Logan Miller, I’m the manager here!”

Mike cautiously glanced at the hand, then reached and tentatively grasped it. It was soft and warm compared to his cold, clammy one. “Hi, Mister Miller,” he managed, his chest tight.

A hearty laugh with a firm shake. “Aww, don’t ‘mister’ me! You can just call me Logan, no need to be formal.” Logan grinned brightly at him. “What’s your name, sport?”

Mike swallowed. His throat felt like it was steadily closing. “Mike,” he answered softly.

“It’s nice to meet ya!” Logan chirped. He dropped the boy’s hand. “Samantha said you wanted to see me. How about we take this into my office?”

Mike briefly mourned the soft warmth that left him. “Yes, sir.”

Logan gave him a humored smile. “No ‘sir’ with me either, sport. I’m running a pizza place, not a military base.” He nodded his head to the entranceway and started walking. “Come on, or I’ll have you drop and do fifty to get this place running that way,” he chuckled, winking.

A small smile worked its way on the boy’s tired face.

What little ease that had melted away when he stepped foot into the main room. The sounds of children yelling assaulted his ears. He could hear the loud chatter of bored parents sitting in their booths and at their tables while their children excitedly ate their pizzas and shoved away at unwanted sides of fruits. The lights were bright, the beams aimed at the stage dim from their usual colorful barrage. Confetti littered the shiny floor, sparkling against the black and white shine.

The curtains to the stage, thick and dark purple, were closed. Mike couldn’t get a good look at Pirate Cove, but he couldn’t hear the jovial chortle of his old friend.

Logan stopped in front of a door and looked back at Mike. “I get the best spot in the house; right by the stage,” he said with a tinge of sarcasm, pushing the door open. “I’ve memorized all the songs by now, as crazy as it drives me. How about you come in and we get this done before the singing starts again?”

Mike glanced at the stage one more time, biting back a groan when he realized he couldn’t even get a peek past the sliver in the curtain, and walked into the room.

It looked like a tornado had gone through the place. Papers were everywhere in every way possible; crumpled, upside, downside. A netted garbage can was filled to the brim with tightly crumpled papers. Three giant cabinets were neatly set against the light blue wall, a locker starting the row. Tacky paintings lined the walls, a cork board at the back stabbed with childish drawings. The source of the mess was in the center; Logan’s desk was worse than the floor, topped with a scratched up chair. Two photo frames stood up among the mess of papers.

Logan trotted past him. “Watch your step!” he chirped. He looked at the teen when he got to his desk, smiling brightly. “What’s with that look? Is it my hair?”

Mike blinked.

“Listen, if anybody tries to tell you I spilled coffee on my head and it dyed my hair, and if that anybody also happens to be a big guy with a hazel eyes and grumpy face, don’t listen to them.” The blond shuffled some papers on his desk. “All this oh-natur-al! I wouldn’t want to dye my amazingly awesome hair anyways!”

Mike bit back a snort, face contorting with a poorly held smile.

“Ok, ok; it’s the office.” Logan sighed, but the smile stayed on his face. “Sorry about the mess, I tend to let things get out of control. Seats are perfectly clean though, so how about you take one so we can talk?”

The teen looked at the chairs in front of Logan’s desk. They looked so out of place in the wreck of the office, too nice and neat. Mike just nodded quietly and maneuvered through the mess to pull one out. He shivered at the cool fabric as he sank into the cushion, but welcomed the softness against his aching back.

Logan slid into his chair with a sigh. “So, what can I do for you?” he asked. “You looking to sign up early for a summer job?”

“Uh, no,” Mike answered. He quietly cleared his throat in an attempt to level his shaky tone. “I’m, uh, here to apply for the night shift position.”

The cheerful expression on Logan’s face disappeared.

“The one in the paper?”

“Uh, right.” Logan coughed, averting his eyes. “That one.”

Mike ignored the stone of dread that dropped in his stomach. He had already been feeling uneasy, but Logan’s reaction just made him feel worse. “Is it still open?” he asked cautiously. He needed this job, not just because of rent hanging over his head like a steadily lowering pendulum.

“Y-yeah, yeah. It’s open, but…” Logan looked at him. The bright eyes were dim with something Mike couldn’t read. “I’m not sure a night job is good for you. You look like you’re still in school.”

Right. School. “Yeah, I’m in school,” Mike said, trying to shove down the guilt that came with the lie. “I’m 17.”

Logan seemed to pale, his frown growing thinner.

“B-but I’m usually up late studying anyways!” Mike hurriedly added. He couldn’t lose this chance, he had to make sure he got the job even if it meant lying through his teeth. “Homework and stuff every night. I thought that I may as well make some money during that.”

“It’s a long shift,” Logan told him. His voice was thin, quiet. “You’d be racing to get to school.”

“Nothing I can’t make.” _Please._

“It’s a weekly thing.”

“I know.” _This is the only option I have._

Logan shifted. “Listen, I just don’t think…”

Mike swallowed. “Please,” he said softly. “I need this job. I’ve applied everywhere and nobody’s taken me. I need to make rent-”

The blond perked, confused. “Rent?”

Mike mentally kicked himself. “Yeah,” he answered cautiously.

“…Mike, do you live alone?” Logan asked slowly.

“I…” He couldn’t weasel his way out of this one. “Yes, I do.”

Logan looked mortified. “Where are your parents?”

It was hard to ignore the shudder that crawled up his spine. “I, uh… I don’t have any,” he managed to squeak out. “I’m on my own.”

The man’s face crumbled. “Ah.” He looked down at the desk. “And no other job has gotten back to you?”

A shake of the head.

“You don’t have time to wait on those chances?”

Another shake.

Logan said nothing. Uncomfortable quiet filled the room, the sound of children squealing pounding against the office door. Mike fisted his sleeve, nails digging into the fabric and scratching at sensitive skin.

“Okay,” Logan finally said. His voice was small, almost broken.

Mike’s chest clenched. He didn’t understand why Logan seemed so wounded over this. Sure, he was lying to somebody’s face about being in school, but this reaction over some missed hours of sleep?

Logan stood up with a small sound. “I’ve got some uniforms in the locker here,” he said softly. “You honestly don’t need to wear it for your shift, they’re mainly for show.”

Mike looked at the pictures on Logan’s desk. One had Logan leaning against a woman’s shoulder, lovestruck eyes beaming at her glowing face. Her hair was a plume of dark red curls, basil green eyes matching her radiant smile. Their hands were intertwined and clasped together, their wedding rings shining. The other was of the woman holding a little girl. She was grinning, showing off a missing tooth while the woman held her in a warm hug.

Something twisted in Mike’s stomach. He looked away, fighting the sting in his eyes.

The sound of a locker door opening had the boy nearly out of his seat. “What size are you? You don’t look too big,” Logan said.

“Small,” Mike managed to wheeze. He shouldn’t be surprised that somebody like Logan had a family, but seeing them all so happy just in two pictures…

Logan shut the locker door carefully. “If anything happens to your uniform just tell me and I’ll replace it,” he said, balancing a pile of clothes in his hand. “Again, you don’t need to wear it if you don’t want to, it’s just a formality.”

Mike stood up from his chair. “Okay,” he said softly, eyeing the uniform. It looked like the ones the waiters and waitresses were wearing. It wasn’t something that irked him, it was just…strange having the official uniform.

“I’m gonna vouch for the pants; they’re really comfortable,” Logan chuckled, handing him the pile of clothes. “If you’re ever worried about somebody being uptight nagging you about uniforms, just tell them you’re wearing the pants. It counts.”

That was nice. The vest looked scratchy, but Mike couldn’t help but be enthralled at the glitter on it despite that.

“I’ll show you where you’ll be working.”

Mike winced at the clear sound of cheering and yelling when he stepped out of the office. It seemed a lot more chaotic than he remembered, a lot louder, but everything was so fuzzy that he wasn’t sure what was being muffled and what he was outright forgetting.

“Oh! Hey, Daniel!” Logan called, flagging down a wandering waiter. The man looked at him, idly fixing a strand of loose brown hair from the shaggy mess. “Do you think you could send an order of a large pizza to the kitchen?”

“Sure thing, Mister Miller,” Daniel responded lightly. He took out his notepad, bored silver eyes scaling over the paper idly. “What kind?”

Logan looked back at Mike, smiling weakly. “What do you want on your pizza, sport?”

The teen gaped at him. “I-I can’t-!”

“It’s on the house, and I would’ve let it slide anyways if it weren’t.” Logan waved him off lightly. “So, what do ya want on it?”

Mike swallowed. He hadn’t had pizza in so long, but… “Could I have double cheese and pepperoni please?” he whispered.

His plea was somehow heard even under the cheers and squeals of children. “Double cheese with pepperoni, coming up,” Daniel crowed quietly. He turned on his heels and strided towards the kitchen. “We’ll have that in just a pinch.”

“Double cheese, huh?” Logan chuckled. “Would’ve been a perfect order if you had ordered mushrooms and anchovies.”

Disgust exploded on Mike’s face. “Eww!” he blurted, sticking out his tongue.

Logan bursted into laughter, head thrown back. “That’s what everybody says!”

They walked towards one of the hallway entrances. In front of both were long, wide plastic gates that were almost obnoxiously yellow. Generous warnings were plastered on them in black bold letters, faded from years of wear. Mike had to swallow an awing gasp; he remembered these, they were the same ones from when he was a little kid, and he had never gotten past them during the day. It wasn’t something to gawk at, but the strange nostalgia he got from them was oddly nice.

“We have to keep these guards up so a customer doesn’t wander back here,” Logan explained as he stepped over the gate. “Doors would’ve been more convenient, but I guess this is the only way cool air can get back there.”

Mike wobbled over the gate, grimacing. So there would be no air conditioning back there? He would have to wear thinner clothes, he couldn’t afford to risk showing anything. Not like he had any clothes that would reveal too much anyways.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a strong fan back there,” Logan reassured, reading Mike’s face. “You’ll be kept cool during your shift.”

Only mildly relieving. Mike unconsciously pulled his sleeves down once he had his footing again.

Logan started down the hallway. “The lights in these halls are a little finicky, not surprised that they’re dimmed down again.”

The teen looked up. The lights were so dim that they may as well not be on in the first place. He grimaced, his heart beginning to pound in his chest. He felt terror prickling at his skin, throat drying and closing as if it could protect his insides from the invisible harm he feared.

_Please. Not now._

“Don’t worry about tripping over anything,” Logan said, glancing back over his shoulder. “Chris makes sure the hallways stay clean enough where you need to worry about slipping instead.”

Mike just managed a nod. He needed to get out of the dark and into the light.

The manager frowned lightly, then gave an encouraging smile. “You know, I think the reason why these halls are so weird are because this place used to be meant for laser tag back before it got turned into a pizzeria. I’m sure there are old props that are meant to glow somewhere, I’ll have to see if I can find any to set up in here.”

A pang of gratitude glowed in Mike’s chest. He smiled weakly at Logan, but his throat still kept shut.

The light of the office bathed Mike in instant relief. The lightbulb was bright and unwavering, illuminating the room with ease. A wide desk was settled against the wall, the screens of an old TV and small microwave sitting on top of it reflecting the room. A flat screen was lying on the desk, faint sprinkles of dust on the screen and the wires connecting to the TV. An empty netted trash bin was nestled against a leg of the desk, garbage bag seemingly fresh and ready to be filled. A cooler sat underneath the desk, scratched but in good condition otherwise. An old phone was nestled into its cradle in the corner of the desk, its black paint looking almost new and the buttons shiny.

Logan turned around, frowning with distaste. “So, this room is pretty weird,” he said.

Mike looked at the doorways, confused. “Um, Mister Miller? There’s…”

“No doors?” the blond finished. He walked to the one door and gestured to the blocky buttons. “That’s the secret of the magic trick; there are actually doors, they’re just automated.”

Mike’s face scrunched. “Huh?”

“I’d show you the trick, but unfortunately using these can sometimes cause the lights out there to flicker and I’d rather not risk causing a panic.”

A twisted feeling of nostalgia tugged at the back of Mike’s brain. He remembered the last time there was a power problem here, and that was…

Logan pointed to the two buttons next to the doorway. “You see these? These are for the doors and lights above them outside. I’d say that you could just close them doors all night, but both of those suck up the power real quick, so you’ll have to be careful whenever you use them.”

“What happens if I keep them on too long?”

“Well, that’ll cause a little blackout, and you’ll have to wait for Chris to come in to flick the breakers to get things working again.”

Fear gripped at Mike’s chest. A blackout? “I’ll be in the dark?” he wheezed softly.

Logan looked at him, worried. “Only if you mess around with these too much, using them a few times isn’t going to hurt anything.” The chocolate eyes swirled. “Is something wrong, sport? You’re looking a little pale.”

The scarred hands tightened on the pile of clothes. “Just don’t want to mess up,” he answered, lying through clenched teeth.

Logan eyed him for a long moment, his gaze calculating. Mike looked back at the door he stood next to. So, he just had to be responsible with the buttons? He could do that, it didn’t sound hard. He had an old flashlight he could bring to shine into the hallways whenever he started getting paranoid, he wouldn’t need to use the doors at all.

“So, here’s how the doors work,” Logan said, a poor attempt at reviving the conversation. “When you press the button for the door, it’ll come down from the slot up there and shut. It makes a big clunky sound, so just be prepared for that whenever you use one.”

Mike nodded.

Something struck Logan’s face. “Oh!” he blurted. Mike jumped. “Almost forgot about the tablet!”

“Tablet?”

The manager snatched the tablet from the desk. The wires scratched against the surface. “This bad boy,” he clarified. “This has all the cameras in the building connected to it. Once you turn on that TV, you can press whatever camera you want to on the tablet and the feed’ll pop up on the screen there.”

Mike couldn’t help but stare, impressed. That sounded really cool.

“But this thing uses up power too, so just be careful of how often you use it.”

Of course there was a catch. Was everything in here just a power hog?

“There’s that,” Logan said, setting the tablet back on the table. “Also, don’t worry about going hungry over your shift. You can bring in whatever you want as long as it’s not alcohol, and if you need it heated up you can plug in the microwave there.” He chuckled. “You won’t need to start a fire to reheat some lasagna or anything.”

“Isn’t there a microwave in the breakroom I could use?” the teen asked, baffled. “I don’t want to use too much power just reheating something.”

Logan coughed, a small splutter flashing horror on his face. “W-well, yeah, but…” He composed himself poorly, smiling crookedly. “It’s easier to do it from here, you don’t have to walk all the way to the front.”

Mike tried to push down the concern that was rising within him. Why did Logan react so horribly to that too?

“And nice of you to make the guess that there’s a breakroom,” the man went on. “You can go into it whenever you want to. It’s the door behind the front desk.”

It could’ve been a lucky guess, but Mike still held the fuzzy memories of him being settled on the couch in there under a spare blanket close.

“I think that’s just about everything.” Logan settled his hands on his hips, rocking back on his heels. “Any questions you’re needing answered?”

Mike was about to shake his head, then paused. “Is Foxy still here?” he asked.

Logan blinked, stunned quiet at the question. Then, “Yeah,” he answered slowly. “He’s still in the Cove, he just can’t perform anymore due to him being a hazard.”

Guilt clawed at the boy. Foxy hadn’t been thrown away, but he couldn’t perform anymore. He couldn’t run around chasing children or tell his tales, he couldn’t leave his cove or even show his face without there being fearful outcry.

All because Mike hadn’t moved.

Logan suddenly swallowed, nervousness tinging his face. “Speaking of that,” he started, “I forgot to mention something else.”

That expression wasn’t making Mike feel any good about whatever it was.

“So… To put it shortly, the animatronics move around during the night.” The blond idly scratched the back of his head, shifting on his feet. “You’re mainly just here to watch them.”

“They move around?” Mike wasn’t sure if that made him excited or terrified. Either way, his heart was fluttering.

“Yeah. It wasn’t really explained to me when I took over, but it’s some ‘free roam’ feature or something to keep their joints from locking up.” He shrugged. “They have to move sometime since they can’t move around during the day anymore.”

They couldn’t move either? It wasn’t uncommon for them to have a break behind the curtains, but they couldn’t leave the stage during the day at all? “Is that because of…?” Mike shuffled. “You know.”

Logan nodded. “Yeah. It was better to keep the rest on stage in case another accident happened, it’s basically a mutual agreement between us and the courts.” He waved his hand. “But that’s a bunch of boring legal stuff, I won’t talk your ears off about that.”

As curious as Mike was, he wasn’t sure he could handle hearing about the legal agreements that kept Foxy alive at a price. 

“But, you’re gonna have to do a boring thing on top of sitting here for six hours.” Logan let out a huff. “Basically at the end of your shift you have to do a checklist about the robots. They’re pretty detailed, but all you have to do is check off some boxes.”

A checklist? “Why?”

“I honestly don’t know. Just something the higher ups want.”

Mike couldn’t remember anything like this when he was younger, but then again there weren’t night guards around back then. What would they need information like that for? What was so important about where the animatronics moved at night? Did they even have any privacy anymore?

“The papers are in the drawer there,” Logan told him, pointing at a bulky drawer. “Just one paper a night.”

Just what was he checking off?

“Okay, now that should be it!” Logan stretched out his arms above his head, yawning. “How bored were you? Be honest; how much out of ten?”

Mike spluttered for a moment, flabbergasted. Then he giggled.

When they left down the right hall, Daniel rounded the corner with a large box in hand. “One large double cheese with pepperoni,” he announced quietly.

Logan beamed at him. “Thanks, Daniel!”

“No problem, Mister Miller.” Daniel leaned and handed the box to Mike. “Hope it’s to your liking.”

Mike hesitated, then reached and gingerly took the box. “Thank you-”

The waiter’s harsh silver eyes were staring at him, wide and empty. Horror suddenly ripped at Mike’s stomach, fingers digging into the box. Suddenly the yells and laughs of the children were gone, the faint sound of a hospital beep wrapping around his brain. The lights were suddenly so bright that the walls grew white. He could smell the disgusting hospital mush.

Daniel suddenly shook his head. “Sorry. Was worried you nearly dropped it,” he said, chuckling.

Mike wasn’t imagining the chipper voice steadily being overtaken by a light roughness.

“I’ve gotta get back to my table,” Daniel said, turning. “Let the kitchen know if you like it or not.”

“I’ll check in with him later on that,” Logan said after him. He chuckled. “Daniel’s an oddball sometimes. Guess he’s more on his quiet side today.”

Mike forced a swallow. It was hard to shake the shivers up his spine from whatever that was. He had never met the guy until today, but Mike felt like he knew him somehow. Not just a passerby on the street, but something else. Something bad.

Something he didn’t like to remember.

A sudden pat to his shoulder had a sharp gasp slipping through his teeth. “You okay there, sport?” Logan’s voice floated in through the haze.

The warmth of the hand was both welcoming and frightening. Mike managed a nod. “Yeah.” He looked down at the pizza box. The cardboard was hot against his freezing fingers. “Thank you.”

Logan smiled at him. “No problem. Don’t be afraid to ask for one any time you want.”

Tears stung at the back of Mike’s eyes. He just nodded.

“You start on Monday, so you’ll have a whole day to finish that pizza off without any pause.” Logan winked. “And then some.”

Cold air stung his cheeks, the warmth from the pizzeria being sapped away. Mike was already starting to shiver despite the heat of the pizza box in his hands, the chill of February poking through his jacket. The late winter sun wasn’t enough to warm him even without being clouded over.

A frosty breath escaped Mike’s lips. He had gotten the job, but he still felt like his legs were going to give out. He hadn’t expected to actually get the position, but even more so he hadn’t expected to be met with somebody like Logan. Mike remembered enough about what and what not to do during job interviews from basically everybody he had ever asked, and he has failed miserably at keeping up what little good appearance he could muster. But despite that, Logan still hired him, even treated him so kindly for no reason.

Slush crept onto his dirty sneakers. Mike shuddered, teeth chattering. Winter was pretty and all, but he was at his limit for being colder than usual.

The job at the pizzeria had been a last resort, but he really had no other choice. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go back there, he wanted to more than anything, but the guilt he had been harboring over what happened… The guilt that grew hearing that they couldn’t even walk around during the day anymore because of what happened…

He shoved open the door to the apartment building. Even the smell of fresh pizza wasn’t enough to mask the stench of dead rats and other unsavory things. The front desk, as usual, was empty, and the building creaked with every movement everybody made in it.

But it was warmer than outside. Mike started towards the steps, trying to shake off the cramps from the cold. What did he have to complain about, especially when he just found out his childish idiocy had ripped away what little life the animatronics had?

The breath was knocked out of him again when he finally made it to his floor. His legs were quivering from the strain, his back already sore. Everybody else seemed to be fine going up a flight or two of stairs, why was it so hard for him?

“Finally,” he wheezed under his breath when he got to his door. He pressed the edge of the pizza box against the chest, wincing at how even that made his skin hurt, and fished for the keys in his pocket. “Come on…”

“I hope you’re planning on sharing that.”


End file.
